Thank you to VinsanityOrElse for his editing help.
I assume it's common knowledge that the R.C.M.P. is the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and members of this federal police force are often referred to as Mounties. The L.C.B.O is the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, but it is also commonly used to mean an L.C.B.O. store, one of the government-owned liquor stores found in the province of Ontario.
1
In my rage I slammed my fist down on the table. Then I forced myself to calm, sat back in the chair and looked into the eyes of the men in the 'interview' room. They wanted me to break and confess to murder, but after what I'd been through there was nothing they could do that would induce me to change my story.
"Look," I began in a calm tone, "I'll tell you the whole thing again, but this is the last time! I've told you everything twice already and I don't expect you to believe me. But I want to see her!"
The three R.C.M.P. officers glanced nervously at each other. The psychologist stared at me intently, trying to piece together whatever had 'really' happened back up at our house from every inflection in my voice and tick in my face. I didn't know how they had gotten him to the interrogation so fast, and I didn't care. A fourth officer suddenly opened the door, walked over to one of the others who was watching me and whispered something into his ear.
"Son, you have to realize how crazy your story sounds..." began the spectacled psychologist in a friendly tone.
"We'll take you to her if you tell us the story one more time," said the new cop in a flat voice. The balding doctor glared at him.
"Okay, now we're getting somewhere." I licked my lips and a constable pushed a glass of water across the table toward me. "At least one of you is willing to listen to reason." I giggled and then started laughing like a madman. As I regained control over myself I noticed the psychologist busily making notes.
"Are you hoping to publish a paper in some prestigious and stuffy old scientific journal, or are you writing down my monster story for a horror novel?"
Now the spectacled face turned to me and glared. One of the Mounties cleared his throat pointedly.
I put my hands up in surrender. "Don't worry. I'm going to tell you guys the whole thing again. I'm as tired as you are, and I want to see Cyn."
2
We'd driven slowly through the isolated town, found our turn and headed off into no-man's-land. The pick-up jumped and jostled and Cyn woefully predicted that the movers probably hadn't managed to preserve any of our breakables. The road wasn't quite a road and I prophesied that Cyn would be helping me clear snow during the winter. That put a smile on her face; she was one of those women who wasn't afraid of a little manual labour.
We weren't too downhearted about the move. In fact, we were still quite excited about it. I work for a mining company and there had been an opening that meant a promotion and hefty raise. Cyn and I had discussed it for several days, but in the end she had stared at me with those soft, green eyes and we started packing.
She'd been a small town girl and was eager to settle down and possibly raise a family, once we found a place outside of Toronto. I'd grown up in the 'centre of the universe' and was tired of it. Moving to Beaver Falls was a chance for us to start our life together, away from apartment buildings, gangs and long line-ups.
The movers had already brought our stuff up, and Cyn had talked one of her artsy-fartsy friends into arranging everything so the house would be ready when we arrived.
A large bump shook the whole pick-up as Cyn was stuffing the directions into the glove box.
"Aren't you going a little fast?" she asked without looking at me.
"Sorry." I slowed down and was then able to avoid most of the dips and bumps on the road. "I thought you were as eager to see our new place as I am."
She flashed me a smile. "As long as we make it there alive, sweetie."
The road circled around a thick grouping of pine trees and then there it was. I let the vehicle coast to a stop. The house was easily four times the size of anything we could have afforded in the city. The walls were stone, the roof was peaked and there was a balcony on the second floor. It was a grand house, and the inspection had verified that it was in great shape, despite the fact that no-one had lived in it for over a decade. We'd managed to buy it for much less than the realtor had thought likely.
"Wow! It looks so old!"
"Only about sixty years," I recited. "Built during the Second World War." Although, I agreed with her assessment, our new home was styled to look much older than it was.
"Out here that's old and look at it! It's in great condition!" She took a long, deep breath. "I'm so glad we did this," she said, placing her hand on my leg.
"Between the house and this scenery you're going to have lots of inspiration."
She glanced at me. "You always inspire me, honey. Or were you talking about my artwork?"
I smirked. "Oh, you're artistic all right. Or do you mean your drawings and paintings for those children's books?"
"Is that all you ever think of?"
I rolled my eyes and stepped on the gas. Cyn's eyes were now glued to the house and once I pulled up in front of the porch, she slowly undid her seat belt and opened the door. The afternoon sun behind the house cast a shadow over us.
"So, you do like it then?" I asked.
"Francis said the photos didn't do it justice, but..." Cyn walked up the stairs to the porch and then took a deep breath. "It has such character!" Cyn had fallen in love with this house while just looking at the photos of the old-fashioned stone and mortar walls and the thick wooden beams stretched across many of the ceilings.
I rolled my eyes and began to unload our necessities from behind our seats. By the time I'd collected the bags, she'd already disappeared inside. By the time I struggled inside with the bags, she'd already disappeared to explore the various rooms. I shrugged and lugged the bags upstairs and along the balcony which overlooked much of the main floor. I dropped them in the master bedroom and took a quick look around.
I had to admit that Francis had known what he was doing. The room looked rustic and comfortable. There was an area for Cyn with a little table and chair, not that she was one for spending time prettying herself up. Her long brown hair framed a face that didn't need make-up.
I glanced at my own reflection in her mirror and rubbed my rough chin. I could hear Cyn moving happily from room to room, below. I glanced at the bed.
"William?"
"Coming!" I called out in answer. The hard work began after I found her downstairs. It seemed Francis had not positioned everything quite to Cyn's tastes. It took a couple of hours to rearrange the heavy stuff to her satisfaction, and I think she stopped asking me to move furniture more out of pity for my aching muscles than anything else, but at last we finished and we parked ourselves on the couch.
"I guess you're not up to cooking anything right now," I suggested.
